Room 101
by Wardown
Summary: This is Part III of the Dragon Awakes Series, and is set between Parts I and Parts II. Samwell spent the Battle of Winterfell crying and weeping and generally behaving like a bitch. I think the only reason he survived was because the zombies realised if they killed him, he'd be joining their ranks, and they wanted no part of Sam Tarly.
1. Chapter 1

**The Undercroft at Dragonstone, sometime in AC 307.**

Samwell chokes, as he wakes. He is tied to a table, naked. A sweet liquid is being tipped over his face. He recognises it as wine. He shivers in the cold and darkness.

"Confess" whispers a soft voice in the darkness. "Confess. You wrote lies about me, in a pamphlet circulated at the Citadel. You did it because you enjoy lying. You wrote that I fled from the Night's King, at Winterfell; you wrote that I plotted the murder of Prince Jon, and his sisters. And, you enjoyed telling Jon about his parentage, because you wanted revenge. Revenge for your worthless father and brother."

"I understand. I do things because I enjoy them. I crucified the Great Masters at Meereen, because I enjoyed it. I burned your brother and your father, because I enjoyed it. I fuck your best friend, because I enjoy it. I killed Cersei Lannister and her brother, and all their soldiers and their minions, when I burned the Red Keep to the ground; no thought has ever given me greater joy. And, I shall enjoy extinguishing your life, snuffing you out like the worm that you are."

She raises a torch above him, and Samwell sees the worst thing in the world. The face that haunts his nightmares. The face of an angel, concealing the soul of a demon.

"I don't know what you're accusing me of, your G-G-Grace" he whimpers. "I am your loyal subject. Your humble and loyal subject. I've never written bad things about you".

"Such lies, Samwell, tsk, tsk, tsk." She shakes her head sadly. "You insist on doing this the hard way. As you wish. Sergeant Pike, come here, please."

A huge man emerges from the darkness, carrying a wooden case. He places it next to Sam on the table. The Queen turns back to Sam. "This is Sergeant Pike, newly discharged from my army, and in search of fresh employment. He has forgotten more about the infliction of pain than you or I will ever know. "Would be you be so kind as to show our prisoner the instruments?' she asks Pike. Pike opens the case, and Daenerys holds her torch above it, so that Sam can see what awaits him. The case contains an impressive array of blades, needles, pliers, and other items, whose purpose is horribly obscure.

She looks back at Sam. "Where would you like me to start? Eyes, nails, teeth, testicles?" A strangled cry is all that Sam can manage. Daenerys cocks an ear. "I didn't quite catch that. Well, I shall just have to guess. Sometimes, improvisation is for the best. " She nods to Pike, who selects a large pair of pincers. "I have a question for you "Maester" Samwell, or is it "Archmaester" now? It is this. What use are nipples on a man?" Pike closes the pincer over the nipple on Sam's ample right breast. "I understand how they would be useful to a woman, to nourish her children. But, on a man, entirely redundant I should imagine. Your breasts are larger than mine, but even so, I think you would be quite unable to provide a child with milk."

"Please your Grace, I'm not guilty, " screams Samwell. Then inspiration strikes him. "Gilly!" he shrieks.

"Gilly? The woman you promised to marry, but who you treat as your whore? What has she to do with this?"

"She found the High Septon's diary entry, about Rhaegar and Lyanna, and she told me about it."

"And, you think she did this to bring me down. She was plotting against me?"

"She was, your Grace, " cries Sam, nodding fervently.

"And the lies that were written about me? Are you saying that Gilly was responsible for those too?"

"Yes, your Grace. I warned her not to. I told her that you were brave and compassionate, and that you saved the world at the Battle of Winterfell. I thought I had persuaded her not to write such filth, but she must have done so, despite my efforts."

"Oh, is there no end to the wickedness of this world, Master Pike? You realise, Samwell, that Gilly has committed a most serious offence; seditious libel. The penalty for that offence is to have the tongue removed, and the right hand cut off. Will you give evidence against Gilly at trial, knowing that will be her fate?"

"I will your Grace, I will! Only spare me!" To his shame, he suddenly realises he has wet himself.

"Good Sam, good Sam. I apologise. I see now that you are a true and faithful subject after all. Perhaps I can help advance your career at the Citadel. Who knows, maybe I could compel them to make you Grand Maester? The post is vacant, currently. I doubt if the Conclave would object if I made my choice clear. You could have your pick of Oldtown's whores. Would you like that?"

"Your Grace is too kind. I shall always be loyal to you!"

"I have one more question for you, Samwell. Why does Gilly hate me so?"

"She is jealous of your beauty, your Grace."

"How wicked! I have good news for you, Maester Samwell. We can try Gilly here, this very moment? Lady Arya? " she calls out.

Arya Stark emerges from behind a curtain, holding an extremely angry Gilly, by the hand. Sam begins to squawk with horror. "You fucking bastard" she screams at him. "You're even worse than my father! You're just a sack of offal!" She leans over him, and spits full in his face.

"Mistress Gilly" asks the Queen, "Would you like to geld him?" "Oh, Gods yes!" she cries. " Been dreaming of it for years." Sam begins howling, as he writhes in his bonds.

"Your Grace, this is a filthy creature, to be sure. But, you promised he would not be maimed" says Arya.

"You do well to remind, me" replies the Queen. "Very well, novice Tarly. You shall return to your studies at the Citadel. But, if you leave, know that your tongue and right hand are forfeit. As for you my dear, we must find you a husband who is worthy of you, a landed knight, perhaps. ". She takes Gilly by the hand, and leads her from the room.

**Notes:**

Sergeant Pike is a character from The First Law, by Joe Abercrombie


	2. Chapter 2

**_The Citadel, Autumn AC 307_**

_It's just isn't fair. I'm supposed to be a friend of the Prince of Dragonstone, and here I am, cleaning fucking bedpans at the Citadel. I discovered that he was the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, and this is the reward I get from that fucking bastard!. _

The gods alone know what Archmaester "Vinegar" Valyn had been eating the night before, but the consequences this morning are very liquid and decidedly malodorous. "Hurry up Samwell" shouts Maester Clydas, "those bedpans don't clean themselves. And, you've still got the stables to muck out, afterwards." The Maesters at the Citadel seem to take delight in finding humiliating tasks for him to do. He wonders if they've received Royal instructions to that effect. It really is too much. Frightened out of his wits in the Queen's torture chamber a few weeks previously; then having that bitch Gilly turn against him, and take Little Sam away. Of course, he wouldn't have given evidence against her! He was just trying to save his own skin, when that she-devil threatened to cut off his nipples. And then, discovering that Gilly had dreamed of gelding him for years! At least the foreign whore has left the country, gone to resume her wars and persecutions in the East. May she be captured by slavers and raped to death in a Lysene pleasure house.

No, that fucker is now Prince Regent, and he owes him. He made Jon Snow the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. He revealed that he was the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna, and the bastard hasn't lifted a finger to help him. Well it's time for him give Sam what he owes him. The lordship of Horn Hill for starters. Keeping him here, while letting his mother and sister rule there, is a bloody insult.

After cleaning the stables, he resumes his studies. At least the Maesters have finally given him a link of his chain for healing, and promoted him to acolyte. He is now studying law. The lecture is given by Archmaester Gerardys. "Gentlemen, the subject of this morning's lecture is the annulment of marriages. I understand that Samwell Tarly considers himself to be something of an expert on the subject. " There is a good deal of suppressed sniggering around the room. "Would you care to share your wisdom with us, Tarly?"

Samwell blushes a deep red. "Well, sir. In order for a marriage to be valid, it must be conducted by a Holy Septon or Septa, or before a Heart tree, if one is a follower of the Old Gods. But, what a Septon or Septa has ruled valid, he or she can undo. If a husband wishes to annul a marriage, he must ask a member of the clergy to dissolve it, and then he can remarry. " "And, can you think of any examples?" replies Gerardys. "Well, the late Prince Rhaegar persuaded a Septon to dissolve his marriage to Princess Elia. That left him free to marry Lady Lyanna".

"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear" sighs Gerardys, shaking his head sadly. "Leaving aside the fact that you are straying perilously close to committing treason, I can only say that your knowledge of the law is sadly deficient. Gentlemen, a marriage may only be annulled if a jury of seven of the Most Devout rule that it should be so. Both parties to the marriage must be given the opportunity to state their case. The grounds for annulment are these: fraud, bigamy, immaturity, non-consummation, lack of consent, lack of intention to remain faithful, condemnation for treason , or entry into holy orders, with the agreement and consent of the other spouse. A separation (but not a formal annulment) may be granted in the event of violence, or other forms of unreasonable behaviour, on the part of the other spouse. Tell me Tarly, was Princess Elia about to become a Silent Sister, perhaps?"

"She was not sir" he mutters, as the class sniggers again. Gerardys resumes teaching his class, directing barbed comments at Samwell, from time to time.

He returns to his cell, and drafts a letter to the Prince Regent:-

_"Dear Jon, (no harm in reminding the man that we are supposed to be on first name terms) _

_Allow me to be the first to congratulate you on your appointment as Prince Regent of the Seven Kingdoms. I have no doubt your elevation is richly deserved. Please accept my congratulations, too, on your recent marriage to Princess Mariah Martell of Dorne. I am sure she will bear you many fine children, and be an asset to House Targaryen. _

_I regret to say that I am the victim of a most grave injustice. Honestly, but unjustly, her Grace the Queen, became convinced of my disloyalty. Rest assured that I have nothing but the highest of respect for her Grace, and wish her health and great joy. Nevertheless, I have been denied my birthright as Lord of Horn Hill; I have been passed over in favour of my mother and sister, and I have been threatened with the loss of my tongue and right hand, should I ever leave the Citadel. This is contrary to all reason and justice. Remember, it was I who raised you to your position of greatness in this world, and I am entitled to your consideration. Were you to choose me a worthy bride, in addition, perhaps from House Velaryon, or House Hightower, you would not find me ungrateful. You will no doubt be aware that I have been abandoned by that abomination born of incest upon whom I took pity , in a foolish moment, and with whom I shared my life for a number of years. I am concerned that she is disloyal to you and to House Targaryen. I shall happily supply you with details of her sedition should you require. I shall leave her punishment in your hands. _

_I remain your obedient servant, _

_Lord Samwell Tarly." _

Three weeks later, Prince Jon's response reaches him:-

_"My Dear Samwell, _

_I wish you health and great joy. I thank you for your congratulations on my appointment as Regent, and my marriage. Mariah is a delightful young lady, and most certainly my better half. _

_I would be most concerned to learn that you have been the victim of injustice. Rest assured that I shall examine your case in detail, and I shall spare no effort to ensure that you are treated as you deserve, and receive the justice which is your due. I have forgotten no detail of your conduct at Winterfell, both before, and during, the fight against the Dead, and I shall ensure that you are appropriately rewarded for it. _

_Your old friend, Jon Targaryen, Prince Regent of the Seven Kingdoms." _

Samwell feels a warm glow of relief, like a warm bath. Cleaning bedpans remains as repulsive a duty as ever, but at least, he can see light at the end of the tunnel.


	3. Chapter 3

The Citadel, in the Spring of AC 308

_"My Dear Samwell,_

_Health and great joy. I have examined your case in detail. Upon reflection, I consider that Her Grace, in her rightful determination to punish sedition, may have shown excessive zeal in this instance. It seems clear to me that you have shown little aptitude for an academic career, and that your talents would be best employed if you were to be released from the Citadel. I have written to Archmaester Gerardys concerning this, and he concurs with my judgment. _

_I do not consider it would be reasonable to deprive your mother and your sister of the revenues of Horn Hill. Nor, and it pains me to have to say this, do I consider that you would enjoy the respect of your late father's Bannermen if I were to grant you the lordship. They labour under the misapprehension that you are a craven. You and I are fully aware of the part you played in the Battle of Winterfell, but alas, your father's Bannermen were not present. _

_All is not lost, however. My dear sister and cousin, Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell, has written to inform me that the lands of the New Gift, while fertile, are greatly depopulated. I am therefore prepared to grant you the castle and lordship of Oakenshield, which is approximately one hundred miles South of Castle Black. The castle is, regrettably, a ruin, and many of its dependent farms have been abandoned. I am however, prepared to grant a fresh start in life to the many thieves and rapers of Kings Landing, who would formerly have been inducted into the Nights Watch. They are rogues, but with careful management, I consider they can serve you well, as servants, labourers, and tenant farmers. The reconstruction of Oakenshield may be the work which you have craved for all of your life. _

_I regret that I cannot act as matchmaker. Velaryons and Hightowers are much in demand these days. However, I can testify from personal experience that wildling women can be most vigorous and inventive lovers. I would seek your bride from among the Free Folk. _

_Your old friend, Jon Targaryen, Prince Regent of the Seven Kingdoms."_

Sam picks up his pillow after reading this, and howls into it, filled with grief and fury. The man he thought was his friend has just exiled him a thousand miles North. And, with the scum of the Earth for company! Oh Gods, what if they murder him, or use him as a woman? _Think Sam, think!"_

Well, at least he's got a lordship! He can borrow from the Bank of Oldtown, on the strength of that. Maybe flee to Pentos with the money! Oh, but then he might run into her again! The thought of encountering an angry Daenerys is even worse then heading North. He is interrupted by a novice, bearing a message for him to attend on Archmaester enters the man's study with trepidation.

"Well, Lord Tarly, it appears you have friends in high places. Naturally, the Citadel will be sad to lose such a brilliant student as yourself, but I'm sure we will bear our loss manfully."

"I think I'm entitled to a little respect from you now, Archmaester. You're a bigot and a bully. You've made my life a misery here! As far as I'm concerned, you can rot in the Seven Hells. You and every other turd in this stinking cess-pit!"

"Well, well, my lord. What a dunghill rooster you've become, now that you are the Lord of Oakenshield. In truth, I think we shall be pleased to see the back of each other. Oh, and one other thing. There is a gentleman waiting for you in the main reception. An eminent Guildsman, Master Meyer, who has served as Mayor of Oldtown. I believe he is now betrothed to the lady with whom you were formally intimate. He asked specifically for you. "

This is puzzling. He is eager for revenge on Gilly, of course, but he has never even met this man before. He enters the reception, and asks for Master Meyer. A handsome middle-aged man, in a plain, but well-cut navy robe walks toward him. "Lord Tarly" he enquires?

"What do you want, sir?"

"We have a common acquaintance. I am betrothed to Mistress Gilly, with whom you were once intimate."

"What of it?"

"It has been brought to my attention that you have accused my fiancée of seditious conduct. This is a most serious allegation and completely unfounded. Naturally, I shall require satisfaction from you. Please give me the name of your second, and my own shall attend upon him, and make arrangements for our meeting."

Sam quails inwardly, but rallies. "You're actually challenging me? As you know I am a lord, a gentleman of coat-armour, I certainly won't accept a challenge from a tradesman."

"I'm not a tradesman, I'm a notary"

"Ha! Gentlemen don't accept challenges from notaries either."

"Perhaps, not, But, I think you'll find it hard to avoid a challenge from a fellow soldier, and keep what passes for your honour. I had the honour to serve as an officer in the city guard for a decade, before I qualified as a notary. I still hold a commission in the trained bands."

"You do know that I fought with distinction at the Battle of Winterfell, against the Army of the Dead?"

"Oh dear me, should I be quaking with terror? I suppose I'll just have to hold my sword as straight as I can while I fight "Sam the Slayer."

"Look, if there's one thing I've learned in life, it's that every man has his price. Tell me, what's your price"

"Your kind of rat always reaches for its moneybags when it's cornered. My price is that you kneel before my betrothed in public and apologise for having slandered her. Or, I'll take your life. I'd rather have your life, but I'll settle for the apology."

"Go to hell, " snarls Sam, and turns his back on the man, walking away. With surprising agility, Master Meyer, darts after him, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck, and drags him squawking, to a table in the reception. He forces him head downwards over the table, and hauls up Sam's robe.

"There is a third option. We call it drubbing the churl. " He draws a short sword, and proceeds to belabour Sam's ample posterior with the flat. The blade is thin and supple, and quite as effective as a birch rod. Sam's shrieks and cries attract quite a crowd of Maesters and students, who laugh uproariously, urging Master Meyer to further efforts, whenever his enthusiasm appears to be waning.

"Accuse my fiancée of treason?" Whack. "Put her in danger to save your own worthless hide?" Whack. "Call her a bitch?" Whack. By this time, Sam is a weeping jelly. "I know how you survived the fight against the Dead. The Dead took one look at you , and realised you'd be joining their ranks, if they killed you, and they wanted no part of Samwell Tarly, so they let you survive. But insult my betrothed one more time, and I'll have your tongue, my lord." Master Meyer releases him, with disgust, and stalks from the reception, to the resounding cheers of the onlookers, as Sam cries and whimpers.


	4. Chapter 4

**Pentos, Spring AC 308**

Daenerys wakes to the usual pile of paperwork. She rises, washes her face, and hands, and walks into her study. In her bed, still asleep, rests her current paramour, Sylvio Rogare, a most striking male prostitute. He costs a small fortune, but Daenerys can't deny, he really is worth every penny. She could have commanded the man to her bed, but she has never been mean where money is concerned. Her maid brings her a pot of coffee while she works. Jon has written a lengthy account of his actions in the Seven Kingdoms, including a small paragraph about his treatment of Sam Tarly. She frowns unhappily. It occurs to her that she was probably too lenient towards the loathsome reptile. She writes quickly:-

_"To His Royal Highness Jon Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, and Regent of the Seven Kingdoms, from Her Grace Daenerys Targaryen, by the Power of Eternal Heaven, Ruler of all lands from the Sunrise to the Sunset, greeting. We wish health and great joy to yourself and Princess Mariah. _

_"We admire and approve your conduct as Regent of the Seven Kingdoms, save for one small exception. We note that Samwell Tarly has been released from his obligations to the Citadel. This displeases us. We regret the mercy that we showed to this miscreant. We request that you treat him in the manner appropriate to an attainted traitor, but privately and discreetly. We leave the details in your hands. _

_Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of the Andals, Rhoynar, and First Men." _

She seals the letter with her signet, and hands it to her servant, so that it may be delivered to Jon promptly. She returns to her bedchamber, where Sylvio is now awake, waiting for her. Fortunately, life is not all about policy.

A few days later, Jon receives the letter. He considers the implications, and then passes the instructions on to his sister, Lady Arya, Mistress of Whisperers, and the newly-appointed President of the Queen's Inquisition. She remembers his disgraceful behaviour at Dragonstone. She herself had been stifling her laughter behind the curtain, even as she restrained Gilly from setting about the rotten fucker. She understands from the Citadel that Sam had continued to slander his former paramour, until her husband gave him a good flogging. She had persuaded the Queen to refrain from injuring Lord Tarly, at Dragonstone, but she now agrees with the Queen, that this was a mistake. This particular job is perhaps, beneath her own formidable talents, but in Master Pike, she has a subordinate who can be trusted to take care of the details. She summons him to her office.

"I have a problem" she tells him.

"Who is the problem, Madame President" he replies.

"Astute as always, Master Pike. You remember Lord Samwell Tarly, at Dragonstone?"

"That cowardly fuck. He looked like a beached whale and squealed like a stuck pig! And, I hadn't even done anything to him."

"Precisely. Well, now you have orders, directly from Her Grace and His Highness that you are to do something to him. He travels North, to Oakenshield. I suggest you take couple of trusty lads with you. "

"I know just the men for the job. Thomas Maltravers, and William Ogle. Are we to be discreet, or are we sending a message? "

"You're to be discreet. There's no need to cause unnecessary grief to his mother and sister. Try not to be too messy either "

"Consider it done, my Lady. Me and the boys will set off right away. You know, I think I must be the luckiest man alive."

"Why's that?"

"I get paid for doing what I enjoy. Not even whores can say that."

**Notes:**

Maltravers and Ogle were two of the murderers of Edward II.


	5. Chapter 5

**Oakenshield, July 308 AC**

It has to be said that Sam is having trouble with his men. It is sadly clear that many of them despise him. They ignore his orders, openly laugh at him, and prefer getting drunk at the local village tavern, Queen Alysanne's Arms, to actually doing any work on Oakenshield Castle, or the surrounding farms. He is currently living in the Tavern's best room, as the castle is uninhabitable. It is therefore an immense relief for him, when Master Pike and his two colleagues, ride up to the Tavern, .

"Pike, my lord. Sent by the Prince Regent, with my colleagues, Maltravers, and Ogle. We're here to keep your rogues in order."

"Thank the Gods" Sam replies. "But, what can three of you do? There are thirty of them, meant to be labouring at the castle, but they defy me."

"Huh, if I didn't know how to put the fear of the Gods into them, I wouldn't be here now, would I? Where are they? "

"Either getting drunk in this tavern, or out poaching."

"Let's deal with them then."

Pike leads them downstairs to the Tavern's taproom, Sam cowering in the rear. The scene that awaits them is disgraceful. Half a dozen men are sprawled on the ground, dead drunk, farting and belching in their stupor. A dozen more sit or stand around the bar in various stages of inebriation, one of them pissing into a corner. The tavern keeper looks on, plainly terrified. Pike spots their leader, a surly tattooed brute, quaffing from a tankard.

"To work, you sluggards!" shouts Pike.

"Go fuck yourself," replies the brute, lunging for a knife in his belt with his right hand. With surprising agility, Pike darts across the room, grabs the man's right hand with his left, and knees him massively in the crotch. The man falls to the floor gasping, unable even to scream, feeling as though his private parts had been hit by a battering ram, and dropping his knife to the ground. Pike drags him up by the scruff of his neck, knife in hand, and smashes his face into the bar, three times, before plunging the knife through his neck, pinning him to it. One of the drunkards lunges for his hammer, only to have his throat opened for him by Maltravers.

There is a stunned silence in the taproom, broken only by the sound of the brute's heels scraping on the floor.

"Right. Anyone else care to take me on?" asks Pike. No one is that stupid. "First things first. Take that rubbish and bury it" he points to the two dead men. "Then you pick up the louts on the floor and you dump them in the village horse pond." The drunks scramble to do his bidding.

Over the coming weeks, a remarkable amount of progress is made on rebuilding the castle. Pike has a wonderful way of motivating people to work hard. He threatens to kill them if they don't. Parts of the castle are even made habitable, for the first time in decades, and Sam takes up residence in the previous lords chambers. . Men who had previously spent their time poaching, now hunt game for Sam, and the three newcomers. There is little wine, but plenty of ale, and for the first time in weeks, Sam is eating well, the spread of his ample buttocks testifying to the excellence of his meals. Yes. he would not say that life is exactly sweet, but it is better than it has been for a long time. He must think about getting a paramour before long. Some of these peasant wenches are not bad looking, once they've been bathed.

Sadly, he will not get the opportunity. Fresh instructions have come from the President of the Queen's Inquisition.

"These highborns do have some queer notions" Pike complains to his companions, as they enjoy a few mugs of ale in the castle kitchen together. "We've got to dispose of him, in a way that leaves no mark on him. How do we do that? We don't have poison. I suppose I could search for wolfsbane or belladonna, but poisoning's a skilled trade, and I don't have much experience in it. Do either of you? " They shake their heads. Maltravers furrows his brow, obviously thinking hard. "I've got it, " he says, He explains his plan to the others. "Seven hells, that's brilliant " says Pike. "You're due a promotion when we get back. "

Later that evening. Pike knocks on the door of Sam's chambers. "My lord" he tells him, we've cooked you a nice venison pie, and we've got a bottle of arbor gold for you to wash it down with.

"Thank you my man". Maltravers bears the pie, cutlery, and the wine. Ogle bears a pile of logs, which he deposits in the room's fire place. Within minutes, a fire is burning merrily, warming the room. Sam is finishing his pie, and is halfway through the wine. He feels pleasantly tipsy. Pike has deposited a poker in the fireplace, which is starting to glow. Ogle takes out a drinking horn, and cuts off the end with knife, honing the surface to his satisfaction.

"What are you doing?" asks Sam.

"Just honing this drinking horn, my lord." He shows it to Pike. "Will this do, Master Pike?" he asks.

"I think it will do very nicely" replies Pike. There is an air of expectancy. Too late, Sam realises that he is in very great danger. Maltravers saunters over, and grasps him round the neck, cutting off his cries. He drags him over to his feather bed, and pushes him down, face muffled in the pillow. Ogle yanks down his breeches, and inserts the horn into his rear end. Pike has his poker at the ready. He plunges it through the horn, into the bowels of his unfortunate victim, whose screams and cries are muffled by the pillow. Pike thrusts the poker up and down, and twists it around, laughing at the novelty of this method of execution. Eventually, Sam's writhings slacken, and then they cease. Pike checks his pulse. It is over. They pull up his breeches, and turn him over onto his back. Their mission has been accomplished to the letter. There is not a mark on his dead body.

**Notes:**

Readers of The She Wolf of France, by Maurice Druon, will recognise the similarity to the death of Edward II.


	6. Chapter 6

**Winterfell Autumn AC 308**

Lady Sansa Stark is holding court at Winterfell. She is seated impassively, on a chair which looks as close to a throne as she can make it, without committing treason. She wears a gown of porphyry and a pearl headdress, in the manner of an Eastern Empress of old. She looks down at the assembled lords, prostrated before her (ritual prostration is an innovation of hers). Now that the Dragon Queen is heading East, she is accelerating her own plans to win a throne. She supposes she will have to marry her wretched, whoremongering cousin, Sweetrobin, in order to strengthen her bid for power.

"You may stand, now " announces her chamberlain, to the gathering, and they rise to their feet. She listens to the concerns of her vassals, and makes her decisions. And then Maester Wolkan comes forward. "My Lady, " (how she wishes he was addressing her as "Your Grace") "I have news from Oakenshield, sent by raven. It appears that Lord Samwell Tarly has recently died untimely. You will have to travel to the castle, in order to conduct an inquest. In the absence of any heirs of his body, the castle, lands and liberties of Oakenshield revert to their overlord, namely yourself. " She remembers Samwell. A cowardly squab, lacking in any form of integrity or moral worth. She feels no pity at his demise. It is irritating to have to travel to Oakenshield, but she knows her duty. . "Very well, make the preparations for us to travel there, Maester."

Three weeks later, she and Maester Wolkan are being led by Master Pike into the Undercroft at Oakenshield, shivering in spite of her ermine wrap. "We packed his body in ice, Ma'am, and kept it here for you to examine. "

"And what were the circumstances of his death."

"It's impossible to tell, Ma'am. He failed to rise one morning. I knocked on the door of his chambers, and had no reply. So I forced the door, and we found him dead. Not a mark on him".

"Lets have a look at him then. " She enters a small chamber, and sees Samwell's dead body. It has barely decomposed, and he remains as she remembers, ugly as sin. She and Maester Wolkan examine the corpse closely. Wolkan then turns it over. "There are some strange marks here!" he exclaims, pointing at his rear end.

"I hate to speak ill of the dead, " replies Pike, and he lowers his voice " but I fear, I very much fear, that he was...….unnatural."

"Unnatural" repeats Wolkan, sceptically, even as Sansa blushes bright red, remembering the activities that her late husband enjoyed.

"My lady, " he draws Sansa into a corner, away from Pike. "I fear that some very dark work has been performed here. However, I understand that Master Pike works for your sister. I do not think it would be wise to dispute this man's account of events. The Queen's Inquisition has its own rules."

It would not be wise. And in any event, a legacy is sweet, and passing sweet, the unexpected death of a vassal without heirs. She makes her ruling. "It would appear that death by causes unknown must be my verdict, Master Pike." Pike nods with satisfaction.

**Notes:**

Sergeant Pike is a character from The First Law, by Joe Abercrombie


End file.
